


The space between

by Salambo06



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Declarations Of Love, First Time, M/M, Masturbation, Miscommunication, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn Watching, Sexual Fantasy, Virgin Sherlock, friends to lover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 09:56:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7098034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salambo06/pseuds/Salambo06
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s for a case,” Sherlock says as soon as John looks down at his computer.</p><p>John remains silent for a long moment, eyes moving from the screen to Sherlock, before saying, “You don’t have to explain.”</p><p>His voice is low, too low, and Sherlock looks at the computer, putting the video on pause.</p><p>“Lestrade asked me-, no, forced me to find out who’s threatening a famous porn star, and the suspect is among his co-stars, so I only need to watch out for any signs from his partners, anything that might show they’re the one sending those threats and I can move to something else.”</p><p>“Right.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [Heather](http://snogbox1.tumblr.com/) for her job as a beta !  
> [My Tumblr](http://johnlockfulfillmenbt.tumblr.com/)

**Monday.**

 

Sherlock opens his laptop late in the morning, wearing only his dressing gown. A warm cup of tea is resting on the coffee table. He doesn’t want to work this case. It’s dull, and really not worth his time, but he types the website address anyway and waits for the page to load. Lestrade must be laughing right now, congratulating himself for winning their stupid bet, and Sherlock curses himself again for ever agreeing to take any case the DI wanted him to work if he’d lost. 

“Welcome to the land of pleasure!”

Sherlock hurries to mute the computer’s sound, staring at the different images on the screen. Naked women, everywhere, and Sherlock quickly enters his client’s name on the search bar. His list of suspects consist of twelve names, which means he’ll only have to watch the first minute of twelve videos. He can survive this. This is so simple, Sherlock is almost ashamed of working it. James Kirth, their client, also known as Jay K., is a porn star, apparently famous enough to receive death threats and so he asked the police to investigate his co-stars. Of course Lestrade had chosen this case in particular.

Sherlock sighs, and looks for the name of the first potential suspect, Daisy Jane.

The video is 15 minutes long, and the title makes Sherlock fear for the fate of humanity, but he clicks on the link anyway, turns the volume up again, and settles on the sofa. The woman, Daisy, is already eagerly sucking James’ penis, head bobbing quickly, but Sherlock focuses on her face, on her eyes as she looks up, and he searches for any sign of hatred, of disgust. But the camera is moving up, and a muscular, tanned back appears on the screen, followed by short blond hair, and Sherlock’s breath catches. 

He hadn’t thought of looking up his client before, and he is regretting it now. The video is now showing the man’s hand, threading through Daisy’s hair and Sherlock’s eyes are fixed on the calloused fingers, picturing a completely different body off screen. He can’t help himself. The resemblance is too flagrant, too obvious to be ignored and Sherlock is glad he’d waited for John to be out to watch the videos. 

Just as Sherlock is shaking his head to focus back on the case, the video cuts to the man’s body on top of his partner, pounding into her fast and hard, and Sherlock can only stare at his back again, the muscles in his hips working with every thrust and Sherlock lets out a shattered breath. He wonders how John’s body looks when he has sex, how sweaty, how hot it is. Does John like to be on top, thrusting into his partner face to face, or does he like to be ridden, to let the other person do all the work and watch them beg for more. 

Sherlock closes his eyes as the man begins to pant louder, the sound filling the room and Sherlock’s head. The obscene noise of bodies coming together is making it difficult to breathe as Sherlock imagines the sound of John’s hips slapping against his arse, sharp and hard. John is on top of him. It’s better like that. He’s in control, driving into Sherlock with force, eyes locked together, panting, kissing. 

“Oh, god.”

Sherlock is hard, his erect cock poking through his open gown, and he grabs the pillow next to him. Sherlock doesn’t mastrubate often, finds it too hard to focus, too difficult to hold on to a fantasy, but since John has moved in, Sherlock has found he sometimes has no other choice. Sherlock holds the pillow against his groin, thrusting up against it, and moaning loudly. He’s always liked the soft contact of a pillow or bedsheet as he ruts against it, and the need to come is too strong to resist at this very moment. 

“Hmm,” he breathes out, glancing back at the screen only to catch sight of muscular arse and he closes his eyes again.

John’s pace is getting out of control, he’s all but pounding into him now, and Sherlock can almost feel his burning skin against his. John is staring down at him, praising him, telling him how good he feels, how much he loves to fuck him, to have him like this, and Sherlock ruts against the pillow faster. He adds some pressure against his cock, bites down his lower lip and lets the man’s groans from the computer fill his imagination. He thrusts up once, twice, and comes with a loud moan, his entire body going still. 

He closes the laptop quickly, no longer able to ignore the woman’s moans, and breathes out slowly. He needs to go shower before John comes back for lunch. He can’t let him know he’s working this case, not now that he knows just how much his client looks like John. He only has to focus on the co-star, to ignore the resemblance and control his own reactions.

It will be fine.

**Tuesday.**

Watching more videos after that first one yesterday hadn’t been a option, and Sherlock had planned on watching the remaining eleven today, getting rid of this absurdity once and for all. 

But then, just as Sherlock is beginning the fourth one, John walks in.

“It’s for a case,” Sherlock says as soon as John looks down at his computer.

John remains silent for a long moment, eyes moving from the screen to Sherlock, before saying, “You don’t have to explain.”

His voice is low, too low, and Sherlock looks at the computer, putting the video on pause.

“Lestrade asked me-, no, forced me to find out who’s threatening a famous porn star, and the suspect is among his co-stars, so I only need to watch out for any signs from his partners, anything that might show they’re the one sending those threats and I can move to something else.”

“Right.” 

John licks his lips, looking at the screen again where James is fingering his co-star, before glancing at the list on the coffee table. Sherlock watches in surprise as John comes to sit next to him, taking the paper to read the different names.

“Any leads?”

Sherlock frowns, “Crossed out three names already.”

“There’s a lot more,” John points out, eyes still fixed on the list, “I could help you.”

“You wouldn’t know what to look for,” Sherlock says immediately, the idea of John sitting next to him while watching these videos making his heart beat faster. 

“I’ve watched porn before, Sherlock, I’ll notice if something’s wrong.”

Sherlock wants to insist, to make John understand he can’t help him, not with this case. Sherlock is already too affected by the situation, and adding John to the equation would only make it worse. It could threaten all of his effort to make John feel like at home again, after everything that happened. But Sherlock realises that pushing John away from a case is just as dangerous. 

“I guess two pairs of eyes are preferable,” he concedes, and John finally looks at him.

“It’ll go faster,” John agrees as he settles back on the sofa. “Is that the beginning of the video?”

John nods towards the screen and Sherlock glances back at it, “Yes.”

“Alright then,” John says, apparently not looking at him again.

Sherlock’s finger hovers over the keyboard for a second before pressing play again. The woman’s moans echo in the room instantly, and Sherlock sits back. He forces himself to look at the screen, and only the screen. Not John. He can’t look at him.

“That’s some really bad porn,” John comments next to him.

Sherlock wouldn’t know, really. Porn had always been part of the things he considered completely useless, and the three videos he’d watched since yesterday proved it even more. 

“Isn’t all porn bad?”

“Not all,” John simply answers.

Sherlock frowns, wanting to ask more, but the video cuts to the actors lying upside down in the middle of a giant bed, and John makes a small sound, almost inaudible, but it seems to resonate in the entire room. Sherlock’s heart is pounding in his chest and he closes his eyes for the briefest second to make sure he won’t look at him, won’t be tempted. Both of the actors are performing oral sex, their moans muffled and the camera moving from one to the other constantly. 

Sherlock tries to concentrate on the actress, on her face, on her body language, but John’s breathing is changing, getting heavier, and Sherlock realises his own breaths are coming shorter. He‘s feeling the first tremor of arousal again, and this time it has nothing to do with the actor on screen. The fantasy is almost too close, John right here, within his reach, and clearly affected by the video. Sherlock only has to glance at him, to look down at his crotch and John would be hard, and he would notice him staring and would look up at him and they would just-

Sherlock stops the fantasy here, feeling his cock hardening in his pants, and bites down his lower lip. He grips at his dressing gown, trying to regulate his breathing but it feels as if John is sitting just inches away from him. The video cuts to the actor’s face as he throws back his head in pleasure as he comes and Sherlock barely manages to hold back a moan, a quiet breath escaping him. He keeps his eyes fixed on the screen until the video ends, and doesn’t look at him when John stands up.

“I’ll-” he stops, “I’ll just go to my room, we can watch the rest of them later, right?”

Sherlock nods and John heads for the stairs without another word.

He still has his coat on.

**Wednesday.**

The video had been playing for three minutes before Sherlock notices John is strangely still next to him. He hadn’t come down until dinner last night, and they hadn’t spoken about the case at all, and Sherlock had been relieved. It had been obvious why John had retreated to his room right after, and just thinking about it had brought Sherlock’s cock from interested to fully erect. He had locked his bedroom door and stroked himself until he had to bite down on his hand to keep himself from crying out John’s name. 

To be completely honest, Sherlock had thought John wouldn't continue working the case with him, but John had sat next to him as soon as Sherlock had opened his computer, and said nothing since. 

Sherlock already knows the co-star in this video isn’t the one they’re looking for, but he can’t bring himself to point it out to John. Sherlock desperately wants to look at him, to ask him if everything's alright, but speaking right now feels like something too intimate. So Sherlock watches the video and tries not to picture John again. He tries not to imagine John lying down in bed, legs spread open as Sherlock kisses down his chest and belly and thighs before taking him in his mouth. He tries not to imagine the sounds John would make, the way his fingers would feel on his head, in his hair. He tries, and, once again, fails. 

The video ends without either of them having said a word and John is up and going to his room immediately. Sherlock listens as he climbs up the stairs and opens his door, but never hears it close. Sherlock waits, one minute, two minutes, and then he hears it. It’s barely a moan, more like a groan, and Sherlock throws his head back, hitting the back of the sofa. He bites down his lip again, making it sure to remain quiet as he listens for any more sounds coming from John’s bedroom. 

There’s only muffled moans but Sherlock’s hand is already inside his pants, closing around his erection and stroking from base to tip in sharp and efficient movements. He pictures John, probably on his bed, his own hand closed around his cock as he brings himself off. He’s most likely thinking about the video, but Sherlock forces himself not think about it. 

Another moan comes from upstairs, deeper, louder, and Sherlock comes inside his pants, back arched and mouth hanging open in a silent scream. 

**Thursday.**

Sherlock knows from the moment he hits play that this video might change everything. John is silent next to him, but a small gasp escaped him when the two men appeared on screen. John had seen the list and hadn’t said anything about the masculine names, but Sherlock hadn’t been able to think about anything else since. He’d suspected, for quite some time now, that John’s interest lay both toward women and men, but this video could be the confirmation he’s been waiting for. 

“Everything alright?” He asks tentatively.

“Yes,” John breathes out, not looking at him.

Sherlock looks back at the screen, where their client is now kissing his partner, rather enthusiastically and once again the resemblance with John hits him. At least his co-star doesn’t look like Sherlock at all, or else it would have been too hard to hold back. Both men are moaning loudly, their hips rocking together and Sherlock finds himself getting hard. He should have known, with John right here, that this particular video would affect him more than the others. 

He tries to resist as long as he can but barely two minutes into the video, Sherlock glances at John, at his face, at his chest, at his crotch. 

Sherlock’s head snaps back to the screen. 

John is hard. 

Focusing on the video isn’t an option anymore, and Sherlock shifts on the sofa, trying to hide his blooming erection. He can’t seem to stop himself now, his eyes being drawn to John’s lap automatically, and he suppresses a moan when John quietly adjusts himself with one hand. The outline of his cock is perfectly visible through his jeans, pointing to the right and the bulge impressively big. Sherlock looks down at his hands, holding tightly to his dressing gown as he tries to cover himself as much as he can.

The next time he glances at him, John is staring right back, and they both look away quickly. Their rapid breathing is echoing in the room, and Sherlock wishes he could mute the video so he could engrave every sound to memory. John is moving next to him, and Sherlock can’t hold back a moan when he catches sight of John’s hands resting over his erection. 

“Hmm,” John moans back.

His hands are sliding up and down his clothed cock, slowly, so slowly, and Sherlock can’t look away. He should, he knows he should, but John’s hand is right here, and he’s touching himself in front of him, and he’s not going up to his room this time. Sherlock feels his own cock leak onto his stomach, rock hard, and he fights back the urge to touch himself. John is only reacting to the video, to the situation, and Sherlock doesn’t want to scare John away by masturbating while watching _him._

John is all but rutting against his own hand now, panting, and his free hand is tightly closed around a pillow. He’s magnificent, eyes fluttering closed and mouth hanging open as he pants loudly. Sherlock’s cock is now achingly hard, craving to be touched, and he shifts again, the smallest movement making him gasp.

“Oh, fuck,” John moans next to him.

Sherlock, already on the verge of coming, feels his orgasm build. He looks down at John’s hands again, his hips thrusting up into the touch, and Sherlock is acting before he can think twice about it. He barely has the time to stroke himself once though his pants before his orgasm overtakes him, hot semen landing on his thighs and stomach.

“God, oh, god,” John gasps, rutting against his hands for a few seconds before his entire body goes rigid.

Sherlock doesn’t miss a thing. The way John’s back arches on the sofa, his eyes, shut tight, and the wet patch on the front of his jeans. He watches for as long as he can, John lost in the afterglow, and commits everything to memory. 

Then, for the first time since they started this, Sherlock is the one walking away. 

**Friday.**

They don’t talk about it and when Lestrade calls with a kidnapping case at ten in the morning, they’re both out of the flat in seconds.


	2. Chapter 2

**Monday.**

The case lasts three long days, Sherlock running all over the city with John by his side, and by the time they’re back home, Sherlock is too tired to even think about James’ case. It isn’t until Monday’s morning, when Sherlock comes out of his room to find John sitting on the sofa, that he remembers the last time they watched a video together. He feels himself blush, his heart beating too fast in his chest, and he quickly looks away. He pours himself a cup of coffee, goes to sit in his chair, and does not stare at John.

He can’t think about anything else now. He can still hear John’s panting breaths, his quiet moans and the way he looked, head thrown back as pleasure overtook him. Sherlock breathes out slowly, closing his eyes to regain some posture. John probably won’t mention the case again, they’ve gone too far, and flatmates just don’t get themselves off sitting next to each other. This entire situation is insane, too dangerous. 

“Sherlock?”

Sherlock’s eyes snap back open, glancing at John who is now looking at him.

“Yes?”

“I was thinking about those videos, and wondering if you’d found the right suspect yet.”

Just the mention of the videos make Sherlock’s body shiver, and he gives himself a moment before replying, “No, no I haven’t.”

John nods, eyes darting to the computer, “Maybe we could watch some more now, before my shift at the clinic.”

Sherlock swallows with difficulty, dozens of excuses going through his head, but finds himself answering, “Good idea.”

The moment they’re both sitting on the sofa, the space between them reduced to barely inches and the video playing on the screen, Sherlock realises he’s already too addicted to John’s reactions. He’s not paying attention to the video at all anymore, the images are flashing before his eyes but his entire focus is on John. He can’t stop himself from watching him, not now that he knows exactly how much John is affected by the videos, and Sherlock represses a moan when he notices the hardening budge inside John’s jeans. 

Sherlock is already hard, had been since the moment he’d spotted John on the sofa, and he breathes out slowly, both hands grasping at his own trousers. They’re not concealing anything, and John only has to look at him to know just how much the situation is affecting him. The image of John’s hand on his crotch comes back to him, and Sherlock lets out a small sound, barely a whisper, but John’s eyes find his and this time, neither of them look away.

Sherlock is panting now, watching as John licks his lower lip and catching the smallest movement lower, and then, the sound of John unzipping his jeans. 

“Hmm,” Sherlock moans, no longer able to hold John’s stare and looks down at his hand instead, disappearing inside his jeans.

Sherlock can perfectly see his black pants now, John’s hand closed around his erect cock inside, and Sherlock is touching himself before he can think twice about it. He can still feel John’s eyes on his face, and Sherlock tentatively slips his hand inside his own pants, not holding back his gasps as he takes himself in hand.

“Yes, yes,” John pants, his hand starting to move.

It all happens in a blur. Sherlock is barely aware of his own hand tugging on his cock, too focused on John’s movement, on John’s moans and whimpers. He doesn’t once look up at him again, and John’s stare is now focused on Sherlock’s hands too. They stroke themselves fast and hard, Sherlock’s entire body shivering when the fat head of John’s cock slips out of his waistband and both of their moans echo in the room. 

“You,” John breathes out, freeing his entire cock from his pants, “you.”

Sherlock complies quickly, a sigh of relief escaping him when the pressure on his cock is released. He rests his head on the back of the sofa, slightly turned so he won’t miss a single one of John’s movements. His cock is perfect, absolutely perfect, and Sherlock’s mouth waters. He licks his lips, and John lets out a guttural growl.

“Oh, fuck, fuck!”

John comes first, semen spurting all over his shirt and Sherlock feels the heat in his groin explode as he watches John stroke himself through his orgasm. 

**Tuesday.**

“Oh god,” John groans when Sherlock begins to thrust into his own fist, and Sherlock can’t believe they’re doing this again.

He barely had the time the time to press play before they were both unzipping their trousers and stroking themselves into full hardness. 

“Hmm,” he moans, tightening the grip around his cock.

John is stroking himself slowly today, and Sherlock forces himself to copy his pace, not wanting to come before him. He wants this to last, he needs it to last. John will soon realise what they’re doing, realise how ridiculous the entire situation is, and Sherlock needs to take advantage while he still can.

John spreads his legs wider and their knees brush, sending a thrill of pleasure down Sherlock’s spine. His free hand is resting between them and his fingers itch for more. He flexes them, eyes flicking up to John’s face and the hunger he sees there makes him whimper. They keep their eyes fixed on each other, and when Sherlock feels John’s fingers covering his, slowly, he makes sure not to flinch, not to show too much. 

Then John’s hand is sliding up his thigh, pulling just enough for Sherlock get it and he crawls on John’s lap quickly, refusing to overthink it. John is already closing his hand around both of their cocks, and Sherlock forgets how to breathe properly. He thrusts into John’s hand tentatively, once, twice, and soon John is rocking with him. Sherlock’s hands clutch at the sofa on either side of John’s head, his entire body tense on top of John’s, and he closes his eyes. He can’t watch John, can’t stare into his eyes when they’re only centimeters away or he’ll do something he’ll regret. 

“No, please,” John pants, his breath hot against Sherlock’s face.

“I-” Sherlock begins, but stops himself, leaning forward to rest their foreheads together. 

John seems to understand and he speeds up his pace, hands splayed on his arse, both of them now rocking together, and Sherlock is all but panting against his mouth. It could be so easy, just leaning in and kissing John, tasting him.

“J-hmm”, Sherlock cries out as he goes still, coming on John’s hand and feeling John’s own cock spurt against his own. 

“Oh, fuck!”

They remain still for a long moment, breathing against each other mouths and Sherlock refuses to open his eyes yet. He needs to move, needs to let go of John. But for now he memorises the exact feeling of John’s hands on him, of John’s body under him, of John’s breath against his skin. 

They don't speak as Sherlock detaches himself from him several minutes later, or when he tucks himself back inside his pants. Sherlock stays in his room for the rest of the day. 

**Wednesday.**

“I don't have to thank you for it,” Lestrade smiles, sitting on one of the free chairs in the kitchen. “I'm sure you didn't even look at the case anyway!”

John clears his throat and Sherlock composes himself to reply, “Of course I didn't.”

“Lucky for you James Kirth managed to find out who it was after all, on his own.”

“I would have found out, eventually,” Sherlock says.

“Right,” Lestrade sighs. “I'm off then, thanks for the coffee John!”

“You're welcome,” John smiles.

“You still owe me a case, Sherlock!” Lestrade calls before going downstairs.

Sherlock doesn't say a word. John either.

It's over.

Sherlock walks out of the kitchen without a single glance towards him.

**Friday.**

Sherlock is going mad.

He's been dreaming about John every night for the past two days, dreams filled with the two of them on the sofa, kissing, touching, fucking, and he isn't sure if he can go on like this much longer. He should have ended it the moment John had offered his help.

They've been avoiding each other since Lestrade had come. John had taken two extra shifts yesterday, and Sherlock had made sure to be in his room when he had come back. He couldn't even look at the sofa without getting hard. The hard part is not knowing what John thinks, why he had continued to watch the videos with him and wank each time. Sherlock had read about sexual stimuli, and obviously, porn is one of John’s, but his own place in all that is still a complete mystery. 

Sighing, Sherlock stands up from his bed and opens his door quickly. He needs to find another case, something to focus on. Somehow, the ache in his chest every time John avoids his eyes will pass and things will go back to normal. 

He just needs time.

“I was waiting for you.”

Sherlock jumps with surprise. John is sitting in the sofa, hands clasped in his lap and eyes fixed on him. Sherlock’s breath catches.

“Waiting for me?”

John nods. 

“Why?”

“You know why,” John replies, glancing at the empty space next to him.

“John, I-”

“Please,” John says, looking back at him, “I need to show you.”

Sherlock takes a few steps towards him, “Show me what?”

John doesn't reply, resting his hand on the sofa next to him, and Sherlock is sitting down before he can realise what he's doing. The entire situation is too familiar, only the computer missing, and it makes Sherlock shiver. He doesn’t dare to look at him as he feels John’s hand take his own, fingers brushing his palm for a long moment before pulling him towards him.

Where it had been hurried and out of control last time, now Sherlock is aware of every point of contact as he crawls on John’s lap again. They’re still holding hands, and John brings them to his chest, resting against his pounding heart and Sherlock finally looks up at his face. John’s eyes are wide open, bright and fixed on him, and Sherlock holds his breath. 

“Let me,” John whispers, and he slides his free hand up Sherlock’s neck, nape, and inside his hair.

Sherlock forces himself not to close his eyes, not to lean back into the touch, and focuses on John’s face. He’s playing with his curls now, slowly, their joined hands still over his heart. Sherlock’s body begins to shake.

“Can I?” John asks as he leans forward, brushing their lips together, and Sherlock lets out a small whimper.

“Yes,” he breathes out, clenching at John’s hand in his.

John inhales deeply and then he’s kissing him, lips locked together, neither of them moving for several moments. Sherlock remembers to breathe when John pulls away, glancing up at him before kissing him again. Sherlock shudders, the hand in his hair adding pressure to their kiss, and John captures his lower lip between his own. Sherlock can’t move, can’t think, and John continues to kiss him slowly, discovering each other lips for a long moment before Sherlock’s free hand finds the back of John’s neck and pulls him even closer.

John moans against him, and licks at Sherlock’s upper lip, tracing it, before moving to the lower one. Sherlock opens them a little, his own tongue darting out tentatively and a long shiver runs through them both as their tongues find each other, entering a slow and sensual dance. Sherlock is no longer in control of his own body and presses himself closer to John. Angling his head just a little to the right, John deepens the kiss, tongue invading Sherlock’s mouth. 

“Hmm,” Sherlock moans inside the kiss, rocking his hips just slightly and feeling the hardness in John’s trousers against his arse. 

John’s hand falls from his hair to his arse, adding the right pressure to Sherlock’s movement to make them both cry out. Sherlock pulls away for the briefest second, catching his breath and staring down at John’s red and swollen lips, all because of him. They both lean forward at the same time, mouths crashing together, and John lets go of his hand only to grab at his arse, thrusting up against Sherlock once, twice, before pushing them both to the edge of the sofa.

“Hold on,” he breathes against Sherlock’s lips.

Sherlock locks both legs around John’s waist, a spike of arousal rushing through him as John stands up. John secures both hands under Sherlock’s arse, walking toward Sherlock’s bedroom without detaching their lips, and Sherlock kisses him harder, pours his desire and love into the kiss. He doesn’t care anymore. He needs John, needs him like this forever. 

“John,” Sherlock moans when John pushes him against his bedroom door and John’s hips buck into his arse, a deep growl escaping him.

Sherlock fumbles for the door handle, opening the door quickly and John takes the final steps towards the bed, letting Sherlock fall on it. He stays standing, looking down at him, and Sherlock has never seen anyone more beautiful than John in this very moment. He holds out his hand, automatically spreading his legs as John climbs on top of him, recapturing his lips immediately while he settles above him. 

Sherlock circles his hips again, the pressure against his erection making it hard to breathe and he thrusts up. John moans into their kiss, rocking against him, hands back in his hair. Sherlock needs more, and he untucks John’s shirt from his trousers, fingers brushing his burning skin as he whimpers again. 

“Fuck, Sherlock,” John pants when they part, staring down at him.

Sherlock remains silent, licking his lips and letting his face say what he’s been holding on to for so long. John closes his eyes briefly before attacking the buttons of his shirt, quickly undressing him, and Sherlock can only gasp and moan as more skin is revealed while John kisses down his throat and chest, and god, nipples. 

“Yes, yes,” Sherlock chants, hips rocking faster against John.

“I’ve got you,” John whispers, “So beautiful.”

Sherlock throws back his head, back arching on the bed and bites down his lower lip as John reaches the waistband of his trousers. His fingers work quickly on his zip and soon he’s pushing both trousers and pants down Sherlock’s legs, letting them fall on the floor before settling back between his legs. Sherlock dares to look down as John kisses his inner thigh. 

“John,” Sherlock whispers, “John, I’ve never-”

John looks up, a warm smile on his lips, “I’ve got you, love, don’t worry.”

Sherlock lets the words wash over him, heart beating furiously inside his chest, and John kisses at his hipbone one last time before taking him in hand, rubbing the head of Sherlock’s cock against his lips. Sherlock forces himself not to close his eyes, to commit everything to memory but John licks at the slit and Sherlock’s entire body trembles. 

“John!”

John takes just the head inside his mouth, sucking lightly and Sherlock already feels like it’s too much. His hips thrust up in their own volition and John places one hand against his hipbone, pressing him against the mattress. John takes his time, sliding more of Sherlock’s cock inside his mouth slowly, and Sherlock realizes he’s making sure he’s not overwhelming him. Sherlock loves him even more. 

He rests one hand on John’s hair, legs spreading as wide as possible, and his cock hits the back of John’s throat. John swallows around him and Sherlock’s entire world explodes, coming inside John’s mouth for what seems an eternity. John is coughing as he swallows his semen and Sherlock starts to panic, sitting up quickly.

“I’m sorry, John, I’m so-”

“It’s alright,” John reassures him, sitting up too, still completely dressed. 

“I didn’t antici-” Sherlock continues, and John brings his mouth back to his.

Sherlock tastes himself inside John’s mouth and the mere thought makes him shiver. He cups John’s face with both hands, kissing him deeply. 

“It’s fine,” John says when they part, kissing the corner of Sherlock’s lips softly.

Sherlock nods, suddenly not trusting his own voice as he realises John is still hard. Sherlock wants to taste him too, wants to take him in his mouth and feels his cock grow harder because of him. He wants to have John on top of him, inside him, all over him. With shaking fingers, Sherlock tugs at the hem of John’s shirt, and John pulls away so Sherlock can properly remove it. Sherlock had seen John’s chest countless times before, but it feels as if he’s seeing it for the first time. The few hairs, the hard nipples and the damaged skin on his shoulder. Sherlock traces it slowly, tentatively, and John shivers in front of him.

“Is that- is that ok?” Sherlock asks and John nods, bringing Sherlock other hand to his chest too.

Sherlock takes his time to explore every patch of John’s skin, with his fingers, then, with his mouth, and John gasps and calls his name softly. Sherlock is getting drunk on his every reaction, and he finally lets his hand slide further down, caressing up his thighs and resting over the bulge in John’s trousers. John kisses him again, Sherlock finding the courage to add more pressure to his cock, and John groans.

“Lie down,” he says several minutes later, and Sherlock complies quickly. 

He watches as John removes his trousers and pants, feeling the first tremor of arousal low in his belly again. He reaches for John’s cock as soon as he’s lowering himself on top of Sherlock again, and it feels so completely different from his own cock that it makes him whimper. John rests his weight on his elbows on each side of Sherlock’s head, and they both look down at Sherlock’s hand around John’s cock.

“Christ, yes,” John pants when Sherlock strokes him from base to tip slowly.

“What do you want?” Sherlock asks quietly and John’s eyes snap back up to him.

“Oh god, Sherlock,” he whispers back, “I’ve wanted so many things, for so long.”

Sherlock searches his face, heart on his lips. John lowers himself on top of him entirely, forcing Sherlock to let go of him. His erect cock is now resting against Sherlock’s still flaccid one, and the contact is electrifying. 

“Sherlock,” John says again, “You need to understand, I-”

He stops and Sherlock can see years of unsaid words dance across John’s face.

“When I came home,” John continues, “and you were watching that video, and then getting hard while we watched together. Christ, Sherlock, I always thought sex wasn’t your thing, that people weren’t your thing, but there you were, so close, and the sounds you made, the way you looked, god.”

He stops again, “John, I never thought you-"

“I know, I’ve tried so hard to fool myself I somehow managed to convince you too.” John laughs, a broken laugh that makes Sherlock’s chest ache so he kisses him slowly. 

“I’ve never cared about anyone before,” Sherlock whispers, “I never felt this before you, and it scares me, John. These past few days have been both amazing and awful. I didn’t know what to deduce, what to take from your reactions.”

John smiles before kissing him again, “But you can deduce me now?”

Sherlock remains silent for a long moment, eyes roaming over John’s face, before saying “I think, yes.” 

“Let me give you a hint,” John smiles again, “I am in love with you, Sherlock Holmes.”

Sherlock closes his eyes, feeling his entire chest expand as a small giggle escapes him. He looks back at John again, reading in his eyes the words he just spoke and pulls him down to kiss him again. John starts to move against him, reminding them both of his current state of arousal, and Sherlock can already feel his own cock twitch in interest again. 

“John, I’m-” he stops, thrusting up against John instead. 

“Earlier was just to take the edge off,” John says, rolling their hips together, “I knew you'd get hard again quickly. It’s normal for a first time.”

Sherlock feels himself blush at the words. He has been fantasizing about this for so long, exploring his own body with his head full with John’s voice and body, that knowing it is actually going to happen makes his entire body shudder with anticipation.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” John murmurs against his lips, “We’ll go at your own pace.”

“I want- I want to have you inside me,” Sherlock says, holding on to John’s stare.

The muscle of John’s throat works slowly as he swallows, “We really don’t have to do that today, love.”

“I know,” Sherlock smiles, hoping John will never stop calling him that, “I want to.”

John nods, staring at him for another second before kissing him again. They kiss for several minutes, rocking together slowly until Sherlock feels his cock harden again. John’s is still rock hard, leaking on both their stomachs. 

“I love you,” John whispers, “God, I love you.”

Sherlock opens his mouth to reply, to tell him he has loved him from the moment he walked into his life, but a sharp movement of John’s hips makes his cock slide down between Sherlock’s arse cheeks and they both hold their breath.

“We need lube,” John pants.

“Drawer,” Sherlock replies, not missing the way John’s eyes seem to darken at the words. 

John prepares him with such devotion that Sherlock loses track of time entirely. He can feel John’s fingers inside him with an impressive precision, welcoming them inside him one by one. John doesn’t look away from his face the whole time, stopping every time Sherlock winces or tenses beneath him, murmuring soft words, praises that make the warmth in Sherlock’s chest expand to his entire body. By the time Sherlock is fully hard again, cock leaning against his stomach, John has three fingers inside him and is fucking him so very slowly. 

“John, now, please,” Sherlock begs, canting his hips higher to push John’s fingers deeper inside him.

“Yes,” John replies, reaching for the bottle of lube again. 

Sherlock winces as John’s fingers pull out, feeling suddenly empty, but then the head of John’s cock is rubbing at his hole, not quite pushing in, and they both moan loudly. John guides himself in with one hand, their eyes fixed on John’s erection as it disappears inside Sherlock’s body. They go slow, so very slow, and Sherlock can feel every inch of John’s cock sliding inside him.

“John.”

Sherlock’s entire body shivers when John is finally buried deep inside him, and he forces John down on top of him again, seeking his lips. They kiss for several seconds without moving, John barely undulating his hips, and Sherlock is the one who initiates the first thrust out. John kisses him one last time before pulling out almost entirely only to slide in right afterward. 

“Oh god,” Sherlock cries out, locking one leg around John’s waist, and John starts to set up a regular pace.

Sherlock gets lost in pleasure entirely. He barely manages to keep his eyes open as John thrusts into him slowly, and the first brush at his prostate makes his back arch on the bed, John sliding even deeper. They move in unison, their bodies coming together over and over again, and Sherlock realises he was made to have John inside him. To have him panting against his lips, skin burning and sweaty, and their hips slapping against one another. 

“Sherlock, Sherlock,” John chants, already losing his pace.

Sherlock can’t talk, can’t think. He can only hold onto John’s shoulder, kiss him again and again and again. He holds on and realises he’s going to come without a single touch to his cock, and the realisation make him moan even louder. John is driving into him faster and faster and Sherlock’s orgasm takes him by surprise, his body contracting around John and their cries echoing in the room.

It’s only after several long minutes later that Sherlock realises he had forgot the most important thing, so he snuggles closer against John and whispers against his lips the words he kept to himself for too long. 

When they fall asleep, there is no more space between them.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comment are really appreciated :)


End file.
